


We make a life by what we give

by eiluned



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Gift Giving, Holidays, Romance, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 14:25:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2854100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eiluned/pseuds/eiluned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha learns the intricacies of gift giving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We make a life by what we give

**Author's Note:**

> Christmas fluff! I started this last year and just finished it today. Go me! Merr Chrismas!

1.

"Hey."

Barton dropped into the bunker from a hole in the ceiling. In the flickering lantern-light, he looked as haggard as she felt, and his groan when he propped himself up on the concrete floor beside her confirmed it.

This mission was terrible.

Natasha was used to espionage, sneaking behind the scenes and talking her way into information (or occasionally torturing, but S.H.I.E.L.D. wanted her to break that habit). She could hold her own in a war zone, but she didn't like it.

So of course Fury stuck her and Barton right in the middle of a turf battle between two warlords in South Ossetia for their first mission together. She thought he was testing her, putting her so close to her former home territory in such a shitty situation.

"Hey," she replied, going back to cleaning her pistol.

"Merry Christmas," he said and tossed something into her lap.

She putting her pistol down, she picked up the sausage-shaped thing and held it up by the string sticking out of one end. "What is this?" she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

"It's… ah, what's it called. _Churchkhela_? I helped an old lady back to her house and she gave me some to say thanks."

"And why did you give it to me?"

Barton looked politely puzzled for a second before the corners of his mouth quirked up. "Because it's Christmas? It's a Christmas gift?" he said, his smile slowly fading as she kept staring at him. "Jesus, Romanoff, no one ever gave you a Christmas gift before?"

The note of pity in his voice made her scowl at him. No, no one had ever given her a Christmas gift. She knew the traditions, of course, but holidays weren't exactly celebrated in the Red Room, and anyway, it's not like she had ever really been close enough with anyone to exchange gifts even if she had celebrated Christmas.

"No," she said shortly, tossing the _churchkhela_ back to him.

He caught it one-handed and immediately tossed it back. "Well," he said, "Consider this your first Christmas gift. Sorry it's not anything better than weird Georgian candy. Maybe I'll get you something nicer when we're out of this hellhole."

Before she could reply, Barton busied himself with checking his arrows and basically pretending she wasn't staring at him.

Crossing her legs, she shifted her gaze to the candy instead of her new partner. He had been nice to her ever since he had decided to spare her life and bring her home to S.H.I.E.L.D. like a stray kitten, and that had always been strange and somewhat suspicious to her. No one offered kindness without expecting something in return, not in her former life anyway.

She looked at the _churchkhela_ and took a deep breath, as if she were getting ready to plunge into deep water.

Natasha broke off a piece and popped it into her mouth.

 

2.

Christmas in New York was a riot of flashing lights and obnoxious songs played incessantly in every single store she stepped into, and between hearing "Last Christmas" for the twentieth time that day and the woman who rammed a shopping cart into her hip, Natasha was not feeling the holiday spirit.

She didn't celebrate Christmas, per se. She knew its religious significance but didn't put any stock into it. She saw its secular practice but wasn't about to deck the halls of her tiny apartment in tinfoil tinsel and a dying spruce tree.

In general, she just wished December would hurry up and get it over with so she could go to the store without having to push through shoppers battling it out for the last talking puppet doll.

But she had her prize in hand, and she wasn't going to get caught by surprise this year.

Barton lived in an apartment in Bed-Stuy, and she wasn't sure why he didn't live closer to HQ. Her place was in Hell's Kitchen, which was far enough away that she could lose any tails on her way home but close enough that she could make it there fast in a pinch. Barton had to take the damn subway.

He did a double take when he answered her knock at the door, and she stifled the urge to smirk. Like her, he kept his address a secret, but there were few secrets that could stay that way when Natasha went looking for them.

"Natasha? What are you doing here?" he asked, avoiding the obvious "how did you find this address" question she knew had to be running through his mind.

"Merry Christmas," she said, shoving the shopping bag into his hands.

For a second, he looked even more surprised, but then a pleased grin split his face. "You got me a present?" he said, standing back so she could step into his apartment. "Jeez, you didn't have to do that."

"Why, so you could show me up for a second year in a row?" she said, surveying the sparsely decorated living room. "I don't think so, Barton."

He laughed, and she took a second to enjoy the flush of warmth that sound made swell inside of her. She liked him, and she was still getting used to that idea.

"Sorry about the mess," he said, putting the bag down on his coffee table beside the tiniest Christmas tree she had seen yet; it stood maybe a foot tall and had little felt pom poms glued to the ends of the branches. "Wasn't expecting company."

"No, I'd imagine you weren't, considering how hard it was to find out where you live," she replied slyly as he gathered up the detritus of bachelor life from the couch and dumped it into a laundry basket.

He gave her a narrow-eyed look, motioning for her to have a seat. "Speaking of which, do I even want to know who you had to bribe or kill to find my address?" he said over his shoulder as he ducked into what she assumed was his bedroom.

"Just a couple of clerks down in the basement at HQ and a public works secretary," she replied. "No one will miss them."

That got another laugh out of him, and she grinned at the tiny Christmas tree. When he came out of the bedroom, he was carrying a small package wrapped in shiny paper. "Just don't tell Coulson where I live," he said. "I'd never get any sleep. 'Barton, why aren't you training? Barton, you're three hours late for a briefing.' Blah blah blah."

Natasha had known he would get her a gift. He'd been dropping horrible puns as hints for the last month, and she'd brought him one in return more in self-defense than for any sentimental reason.

(That was a lie.)

But her cheeks still flushed a little when he set the package down on her knees and stepped over her to sit at the other end of the couch. She played it off by pushing up the sleeves of her sweater and tucking her hair behind her ears as if she were too warm.

"Merry Christmas," he said, looking at her pointedly until she sighed and started unwrapping the little gift.

Inside the paper was a plain box, and inside the box was… a necklace. A dark red stone, probably a garnet, set in silver strung on a chain of tiny black and white beads. It was really lovely, and for a long moment, she was speechless that he would give her something so pretty and so… sentimental.

"Goddammit," she said.

Barton blinked in surprise. "Wh— do you not like it?"

"Open your damn gift."

Still puzzled, he reached into the bag and pulled out…

"I got you a stupid coffee maker, and you got me this."

He started laughing, holding the Mr Coffee box against his chest as he fell back on the couch. "Oh Jesus, this is perfect," he cackled. "How did you know—"

"I heard you bitching to Coulson that you broke yours last week," she grumbled, running her fingers over the necklace. "I'm sorry. It's a horrible gift."

"No, it's not," he said, moving the box to the safety of the coffee table. "It's just what I needed. That's a great gift."

He was looking at her so earnestly, like he really appreciated the present and more, appreciated her, that she fought to twist the frown off of her face. "Okay," she said, swallowing down her frustration at still being outdone by him.

(And at getting him something so pedestrian when he got her something so beautiful.)

"Do you like the necklace?"

Clint's tone had gone a little tentative, like he really wanted her to like his gift, and damn, but she had gone soft. She liked it. She liked _him_ , despite what she used to think was her better judgment.

"Yes," she replied. "I love it."

 

3.

Natasha watched Clint get out of a cab and step into the throngs of holiday merrymakers milling around Rockefeller Center. He caught sight of her and excused his way through what she presumed was a huge family of tourists, giving her a vaguely grumpy look when he finally made it over to her perch on a bench.

"There's a reason you made me come here, I presume?" he said, sticking out his elbow.

She tucked her hand into the bend of his arm and tugged him out into the river of people again. In their overcoats and scarves, arm in arm, they blended right in with the other couples out enjoying the Christmas spirit, even if she was smirking at the scowl on his face.

"You're here so I can give you your Christmas present," she said.

They were right at the entrance to the big skating rink, and Clint stopped short, eyeing her suspiciously. "I hope it's either a giant Christmas tree or a big-ass gold statue of whoever that is over there."

"Prometheus," she supplied, pressing her lips together to stifle the urge to laugh.

"No."

"No what?"

"No, I am not going ice skating."

She gave in and laughed, pulling his arm. "Yes, you are," she said.

"Nope," he replied, digging in his heels. "I don't ice skate."

"Yeah, I can understand why you don't."

"You're doing this because I slipped and busted my ass in Finland, aren't you?" 

"Thought you were supposed to be agile, Hawkeye, what with that circus training—"

"Shut your mouth," he said, but he let her drag him through the line and didn't even whine out loud when she bought their tickets.

He wasn't as bad on skates as he was on that slippery street in Helsinki, just a little awkward on the turns. His scowl even started to mellow out a little bit when she let go of his arm to turn and skate backwards in front of him.

"Show off," he said. "Aren't you Russians supposed to be experts at this shit?"

Looking back over her shoulder to make sure the way was clear, she did a simple loop jump, grinning at him when she landed it gracefully. "That's the best I've got," she said, skating back to his side. "I got stuck in classical ballet instead of figure skating when I wasn't doing my _other_ training."

He grinned back, taking her hand and tucking it into his arm again.

They skated for a while longer, until the rink started getting a little more crowded than either of them liked, and then they headed to the exit. "Not a bad Christmas present," Clint said as they returned their skates. "Not as good as Mr Coffee, but better than that godawful reindeer sweater last year."

"Whatever, I got you gourmet coffee with the ugly sweater," she retorted, falling into step beside him as they blended back into the crowd. "You just like to complain."

"I haven't had a chance to get you anything yet," he said.

She smiled at a kid who was excitedly pointing up at the huge Christmas tree. "You don't have to," she replied, but he caught her arm and pulled her to a sudden stop.

When she turned her head to him, he caught her lips in a soft kiss, brushing his gloved fingers across her cheek. It was… unexpected, to say the least; they flirted and teased, and she couldn't deny that she liked him, was attracted to him, but a kiss?

She hesitated just long enough for him to start to pull back, and in that split second, she reached up and pulled his lips back against hers, tilting her head so she could kiss him properly.

He hadn't shaved in a couple of days, and his stubble was rough against her skin. She slid her hands into his hair, wishing she had thought to take her gloves off first so she could actually feel it, but he had wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close, and that was good enough for now.

They fit together like they were meant to be caught up in an embrace, and when they finally, slowly broke apart, Natasha found herself breathless. Clint was, too, but he looked equal parts startled at his own daring and worried that she was going to deck him.

She didn't deck him.

They would have to talk this over later, figure out what it meant, decide where they wanted to go, but in that moment, she just kissed him back.

 

4.

Someone banged on Clint's door, and more out of reflex than any actual sense of danger, Natasha's hand went to the gun hidden under her jacket.

"Relax," Clint said, looking out the peephole before opening the door.

A little girl, maybe nine years old, with her kinky-curly hair decorated with a shiny tinsel headband, grinned up at him. Natasha relaxed and leaned back against the kitchen bar.

"Hey, Mr. Barton. The party's started, and Auntie Simone wants to know why you're late," the girl said with a wide grin.

Clint clapped his hand over his face. "Aw crap, I forgot completely about that!" he moaned.

The girl grinned even wider. "Auntie Simone says you can bring your girlfriend," and Natasha cocked an eyebrow at the kid.

Clint's hand came down, and the look he shot Natasha was hilarious. She had no idea if the kid was just making assumptions or if Clint had been actually calling her his girlfriend, but she had to admit that watching him squirm was pretty entertaining.

(She secretly didn't mind the title, as long as it wasn't used at S.H.I.E.L.D. Not everything was Fury's business.)

"Go, go," Clint said, herding the girl back out into the hall. "Tell your auntie we'll stop by."

"See you in a minute, Mr. Barton!"

The door closed, and Natasha bit the inside of her lip to keep from smirking at him. "Um," he said, shoving his hand back through his hair, "I'm pretty sure I called you my partner."

Natasha raised an eyebrow in reply, and Clint cleared his throat.

"So… partner," he continued, turning red. "We can just… I don't know, drop in for a second and then say we've got to go—"

"Nah, let's go to the party," Natasha interrupted, smiling sweetly just to watch him sweat. "Wouldn't want to disappoint Auntie Simone."

The party wasn't exactly what she expected based on other parties she'd been to. It was just a dozen or so neighbors in Simone's little apartment, drinking beer and wine and chatting in front of her spectacularly shiny Christmas tree.

And every single neighbor greeted her with "Oh, you're Barton's girlfriend!" or some variation thereof. By the time an hour had passed, she wondered if Clint would be permanently red-faced. "'ey, Hawkguy!" a big man in a baseball cap called, making his way over.

"He knows your code name?" Natasha muttered in his ear.

Clint grinned guiltily. "Well, not exactly," he replied. "Hey, Grills."

"This your girlfriend?"

Clint heaved a sigh and caved to the inevitable. "Yes," he said. "This is my girlfriend, Natasha."

She reached over and slipped her hand into his. There hadn't been time to do any shopping this year, what with all the usual stuff on top of preparing for a long-term mission at Stark Industries in California, but as far as gifts go, getting to be Clint Barton's girlfriend, even just for this little crowd of neighbors, was a pretty good one.

 

5\. 

It was a little known fact that Clint owned a farm.

He wasn't a farmer, of course, and he never actually did anything with said farm. He had found out about ten years back that his brother had deeded him their parents' old farmhouse and land in Iowa. Apparently his brother hadn't wanted to bother with it, and Clint? Well. He didn't really want the house and all its bad memories, either, but he knew the usefulness of having a bolt hole in a remote location.

Natasha found him there the Christmas after they had saved New York.

"Merry Christmas," she called by way of greeting, pushing the door open with her shoulder while juggling an armful of bags.

"Nat?"

She watched him put his gun away as she kicked the door shut behind her. "Nat, what are you doing here?" he asked, running a hand back through hair that looked like it hadn't been washed in a week.

"You can't spend Christmas alone," she replied, dropping the bags and rooting around in one until she found his tiny Christmas tree.

(The "I'm not going to let you be alone right now" was silent.)

He scowled at her as she placed the tree on the coffee table and plugged it in. Hunting him down like this was risky; he'd been different since Loki got his claws in him, and Natasha had respected that he needed some time to sort things out. But it had been months, and she missed him.

"Let me go take a shower," he grumbled as she unloaded some groceries from another bag.

When he emerged, flushed pink from the hot water, she had unpacked dinner and changed into pajamas. Clint was quiet as they ate, but she could tell he was slowly warming up to her by the time they made their way back to the living room.

"Sorry," he said quietly, dropping onto the couch. "I shouldn't've bolted like that. I just needed a break from… everything. But I should've talked to you about it."

"It's okay," she replied, reaching over to tug her duffel bag close enough to reach. "Just… text me next time or something."

He had just gotten started on what looked to be a good mental self-castigation session when she dropped a red-wrapped package in his lap. "What… aw shit, I left yours in New York," he said.

"No you didn't," she said, pulling out a little, silver box with a green bow. "I found this in your nightstand."

"Snooping in my drawers," he grumbled, but there was a little smile at the corner of his mouth.

"It said 'To: Natasha,' so I thought I should bring it along," she said with a smirk. "Open your present."

"You open yours first."

She slipped her fingers underneath the green ribbon and slid it off, lifting the lid to find another necklace: this one a delicate chain with a tiny, silvery arrow.

"Is it arrogant for me to give you a necklace with my thing on it?" he asked with a nervous grin, ruffling his hair again.

"Clint," was all she could say in reply; her breath caught in her throat, and she lifted her hair so he could fasten the necklace around her throat.

"Do you like it?"

She kissed him instead of answering, crawling into his lap so she could feel the warmth of his body against hers. Just because she understood why he needed the distance didn't mean it was any easier to deal with, and she had missed being close to him like this in the last few months. And it seemed he'd missed her, too, because his hands clutched at her, sliding underneath her clothes and searing her skin with his heat.

"Open your gift," Natasha murmured later, reaching out from under the blanket to snag it from where it had fallen to the floor in their haste.

Pushing himself up on his elbow, he made a show of rattling the package (which made no noise at all) before tearing the tape off. "It's… a CD," he said, giving the plastic holder a baffled look. 

"Turn it over, genius."

"Mixtape," he read. "You made me a mixtape? Gee golly, Natasha, are we going steady now?"

He laughed when she whapped him in the face with a pillow, but he got quiet as he read the tracks written in her neat hand. "This… this is perfect, Tash," he said, climbing out of their little couch nest to go put the CD into an ancient boom box on the mantle.

She knew Christmas wasn't some sort of competition, but as he lay back down beside her and wrapped his arms around her, she thought this year she'd managed a pretty good gift.


End file.
